


Picking Up Our Broken Pieces

by AllisonDiamond



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Sansa, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, POV Sansa, Sansa-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonDiamond/pseuds/AllisonDiamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't trust him, but he trusted her, and that was something she needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking Up Our Broken Pieces

“Are you not angry that the North hailed a bastard as the king it rightfully deserved?” Jon asked, as his words turned to frost, with just a scornful look from Sansa. “When you are the rightful Queen to Winterfell. _Aren’t you angry?_ ”

“Jon,” Sansa began, her voice thick and hard. “Yes, I _was_ angry that you were chosen to rule over Winterfell, but not for the reasons you think. I was angry because none of the houses nor you, Jon, acknowledged that I, even if I were wrong to not let you know beforehand about my involvement with the Vale, was mostly responsible for your — _our victory_ in claiming back Winterfell.”

Jon stared at her and she softened for a brief moment. But that was all taken away when she remembered about her conservation with Lord Baelish. _Jon was right. Lord Baelish was right._ She didn't want to rule over Winterfell, but it didn't feel right, not really, how quickly the North was to accept Jon as its King. She supported Jon, but she knew in her heart, she was soon to be poisoned against him, because she was trained by the likes of Peytr Baelish, and falling back into his schemes were too easy.

She wanted to say she wouldn't be foolish to trust him, but she would let him back in her life, if she listened to him talk.

She didn't want that.

She wanted to do the right thing, become her own person, yet he had been the only one she trusted, and he had betrayed her in the end.

Jon did not know, nor would he understand how easy it was to become one of Peytr Baelish’s pawns in his game to win the _Iron Throne_. 

“Aye, you’re right. It wasn’t right of me to disregard your actions. If it weren't for you, we would had lost, Sansa. I’m truly sorry.”

He stared at her, and he looked so lost, so broken, that all thoughts of Peytr Baelish left her, but the thought of Jon, her father’s bastard, getting most of the North’s support left her dissatisfied and angry. She didn't want to be angry, but she was, and she didn't trust Jon. He was too nice for this world. 

“Sansa, I never wanted to be King. I know I don't deserve it. I’m just a bastard. And once the war that is to come is over, I’ll resign from being King, if I’m not dead by then, and throw my full support behind you.” He smiled at her, but it did nothing to her. She felt empty and cold. “I need your trust. You’re all I’ve got. You’re the only one who's willing to be honest with me. We only got each other. We have got to be there for each other,” he said softly, and she heard every promise in his words. 

_He trusted her._

She wanted to feel disgusted with herself for not trusting the only known living relative of hers. A bastard, he was, but a better Stark than she ever would be. She felt unmoved by his speech. It did nothing to her. Jon was honest, loyal, and nobel. She knew he would follow on his promises. Still, it did nothing to her.

She was hardened, like the men after battles, and now, she wasn't sure that was a good thing. Thisnew her could as well be the end of her. 

She would never be the young, innocent child she was when she was promised to Joffery, or the naive, untrusting woman she was when married to Tyrion, nor would she be the scared, broken girl she was when Ramsay got his claws into her.

_But was that really a blessing?_

She watched Ramsay get devoured by his mutts, and she liked it. He deserved it. But it didn't take away anything Ramsay did to her. It didn't make the nightmares go away.

Not trusting Jon, because he was soft, because he cared if Rickon lived or not, was something much worse. She didn't want her brother to die, but she had been far too willing to let Rickon die to get her revenge on Ramsay.

She was becoming someone that she didn't like.

“I want you to know, Sansa. I understand. I understand why you don't trust me, but for us to survive, for Winterfell to thrive, for us to get rid of the White Walkers, we need to be there for each other. I need you to be with me on this one.” Jon smiled again and reached for her hands. His fingers felt cold when rubbed against her knuckles, but it was comforting, soothing, almost. “The wars to come won’t be easy, and Winterfell needs to be in capable hands, your hands, Sansa, when I’m gone.”

_Oh, Jon,_ she wanted to say, _you are a fool for thinking that._ She held back her tongue, because he needed her on this one, and she wasn't going to let him down, even if she didn't trust him. 

“I trust you, Jon. I do.” An utter lie. “You’re good for Winterfell. You aren’t like most of the Kings; you don’t want this, and that’s why you’d be good for Winterfell. You’re not power-hungry. That won’t be your downfall.”

She smiled at him and he smiled back.

“Thank you.” Jon pressed his lips to her forehead. “You’re a good person. Aye, a strong woman. That isn't a bad thing, Sansa. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” She wished his words could thaw the ice out of her heart. “You weren't hailed as King, because you're the only living male Stark, a bastard at that, too, but because you earned it, Jon.”

Jon held her hands for a moment, rubbing her knuckles softly, before he smiled and went back inside, leaving her to admire the cold, bitter person she was, like the heavy snowfall behind her.


End file.
